


Skin Deep

by vivianne_leigh



Category: BioShock, BioShock 2
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Flash Fic, Minor Injuries, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Other, Post-Good Karma Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianne_leigh/pseuds/vivianne_leigh
Summary: Eleanor doesn't like what she sees in herself.





	Skin Deep

“Be sure of this—that I am with you always, even to the end of the world.”

 

     - Matthew 28:20

 

* * *

 

 

The year is 1972.

 

The Space Shuttle program is thriving, the Ghanaian Prime minister has fallen, and, on a remote corner of the Oregon coast, Eleanor Lamb is picking broken glass out of her knuckles.

 

Behind her, the cracked frame of the mirror hangs sadly on the wall, tiny shards still hanging loose. She hasn't meant to break it- she'd only even looked into it to check her hair, to smooth it down from the sandy burrs it always formed after being in saltwater. After she'd managed to brush it into submission, she'd simply hung there, staring into her own eyes. She was just turning twenty, four years out of Rapture, and she could still hardly believe it. She'd taken to the surface would immediately, wandering from place to place, too excited at freedom to even consider settling down. Instead, she'd bounced around the world, doing odd jobs and just _living_ , away from the crumbling despair of Rapture and the influence of her mother- something she couldn't get enough of, despite the dangers present. However, something was troubling her, even as she explored the depths of her liberation. Lately something about her face had begun feeling  _off_ \- she couldn't put her finger on it, couldn't even put a name to the problem, but it nagged at her, buzzing around in her skull like a swarm of flies. It wasn't until she’d pursed her lips, exasperated, that she'd understood.

 

She looked like her _mother_. A chill swept through her, running down her spine.

 

Now that she had seen it, she couldn't _unsee_ it- in the slope of her shoulders, in the curve of her lips: in her irises, her posture, her ears. When she was younger, still down in Rapture with Grace, she hadn't really noticed the similarities between them; when she was running, trying to flee her mother's influence she refused to acknowledge the shared blood between them. Instead she'd cherished the differences: her eyebrows were flatter, her cheeks fuller, her hair a brown in contrast to her mother’s butterscotch.

 

Now though, with her mother's eyes blinking back at her it was hard to deny the similarities.  

 

Disbelief and panic clouded her judgement as she reached towards the bathroom mirror, fingertips leaving cloudy crescents as she traced her hand across the glass.

 

No. **No**.

 

She watched her face flicker, then harden- the expression was painfully familiar and in an instant memories overwhelmed her; flashes of blue butterflies and blood and screaming. Her mother was there under her skin, squirming and _festering_ and invading and-

 

and-

 

She came to with an explosion of pain and the sounds of falling glass.

 

Dazed, she pulled back her fist and stared at it, the way the glass seemed to burst from the skin like crystals from stone. 

* * *

 

After picking out the shards and watching the shredded tissue heal, Eleanor sighed, using her bare foot to kick the leftover pieces out of her path. She’d clean up the blood and bits later- in this abandoned cottage, she had no one to answer to. Instead she smiled sadly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, already making for the weathered front door.

 

Eventually, she reasoned, she would learn to look at herself again.


End file.
